


Learn to fly

by purple_cube



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a reminder to the rebels that even the bond of blood cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, male and female tributes will be reaped from the family lines of existing victors. Catching Fire AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn to fly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompts in Panem on Tumblr, for Round 5 Day 6, for the prompt Reconciliation. I changed the title from 'looking to the sky to save me' from the PiP entry (because I am terrible with titles).

 

_And now we honor our third Quarter Quell. On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the bond of blood cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, male and female tributes will be reaped from the family lines of existing victors._  
  
My mother gives a faint shriek, and the blood has drained from Prim’s face. The camera has returned to Caesar Flickerman by the time I finally understand. Existing victors for District 12 are myself, Peeta and Haymitch. Of our family members…there is only one who is eligible.   
  
_Prim_.  
  
I want to run and hide and block out the world, but I can’t. Because Prim – beautiful, kind, innocent Prim – has been selected yet again for the arena, and this time there is nothing that I can do to prevent them from taking her.  
  
We hold each other, the three of us intertwined, for most of the evening. At some point, maybe an hour or two after the broadcast, there is a knock on the door. I open it to see Peeta and let him in wordlessly.  
  
He takes my place on the couch and hugs Prim tightly, and for the first time, she cries. I watch as he strokes her hair absently. His eyes meet mine.  
  
“Haymitch has no family,” he says quietly. “My brothers are too old to be reaped now. But I have a cousin, Aden, on my mother’s side. He’s thirteen.”  
  
Thirteen. The same age as Prim. I look at her, and realize that she knew. Of course she must know Aden, must have at least heard his name at school.  
  
So this is how the Capitol will control us and extinguish the kindling of the rebellion. Peeta and I will not only have to mentor thirteen year olds in our first Games as victors, but will have to fight each other to keep a family member alive.  
  
I run from the room, arriving at the bathroom in time to be sick in the basin.  
  
*  
  
Peeta tries to talk to me about in private, but I manage to evade him until the day that we all leave for the Capitol. The reaping is a formality of course, with only one scrap of paper in each bowl for Effie to pluck. She looks behind in apology at Peeta and me before she calls out Prim’s name.   
  
And although I can’t see their faces, I am proud of both Prim and Aden for standing tall on this stage, just as their mentors do. As in the previous year, every hand is raised but Effie’s and the Peacekeepers’ in silent homage to our tributes.  
  
Prim doesn’t cry when our mother comes to say goodbye. I whisper a promise to look after her, but we both know that it is an assurance that I have no right to make.  
  
And then we are on the train, an old friend to Haymitch and Peeta and I, but a brand new herald of the Capitol’s power for Prim and Aden.   
  
We eat in silence, and Prim rejects my offer to share a bed, retiring to her own room before the plates have been cleared away.   
  
Peeta comes to see me not long after I excuse myself. “Can you sleep?”  
  
I shake my head, already knowing that it will be difficult.   
  
“Do you want me to stay?”  
  
I hesitate, and as usual, he picks up on it.  
  
“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”  
  
I nod my assent, and he slips into my bed.  
  
*  
  
I try to teach both Prim and Aden how to shoot through diagrams and a makeshift bow and arrow in our quarters at the Training Center, but fail miserably. They both prove to be better at knife-throwing anyway, and we collectively decide that this should be their weapon of choice.  
  
Peeta suggests that they make an alliance before they go into the arena. “The Careers do it,” he argues. “Why can’t we?”  
  
The following evening, Prim enters the District 12 quarters with a wide smile, something that I haven’t seen the Quell announcement. “We have allies,” she announces.  
  
“Who’s in?” Peeta asks.  
  
Aden laughs. “It might be easier to ask who isn’t in. Prim made friends with everyone but the Careers.”  
  
“So did you,” she says lightly. They grin at each other, and a feel a pang, not of jealousy but of regret. Regret that the two of them will never get to maintain this friendship outside of the Games.  
  
Prim is reeling off a list of names, and I quickly realize that Aden isn’t exaggerating by much. She has signed up everyone except for the tributes from Districts 1, 2, 4, 5, 9 and 10. The first three are the Career pack, and the latter three have shown no interest in allying themselves with anyone, according to Aden.  
  
I have to ask. “But what about after? When the alliance breaks down?”   
  
Prim shrugs and looks at Aden. “Then we’ll go it alone.”  
  
He nods in agreement.  
  
“And when it’s just the two of you?”  
  
Prim’s eyes harden. “Then we’ll find some nightlock,” she says evenly.  
  
I shake my head. “That won’t work again.”  
  
“What do you want me to say, Katniss?”  
  
I don’t want _her_ to say anything. I look at Aden, and I know that he understands.  
  
“I don’t –“ he begins to mumble before Peeta cuts him short.  
  
“You don’t have to say anything, Aden.” He turns to me, his anger clear for all to see. “You have no right to ask him this, Katniss. No right.”  
  
He doesn’t come to my room that night, or any night that follows. We sit side by side as we watch the tribute interviews, and even Caesar picks up on the frostiness between us. _Bet our favorite lovebirds will be glad when this is all over_. But then he is won over by Prim’s innocent charm and Aden’s charisma, and even he has the grace to look apologetic when our two tributes hold hands. I stay awake until the moment that Prim is lifted into the arena.  
  
*  
  
I’m watching Prim sleep beside Aden during the early hours of the morning when Haymitch knocks on my door. He hovers in the middle of the room after I let him in.  
  
“You need to talk to Peeta.”  
  
“They can’t both win, Haymitch. Not again.”  
  
“I know. But I think I can find a way.”  
  
I start to ask him how, but he cuts me off by bringing a finger to his lips.   
  
“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” he says, but I know that this isn’t what he means. What he means is that the walls have ears.  
  
“Okay,” I say. “But please try your best.” Which means _I will kill you if Prim dies_.  
  
I take a deep breath when he leaves, and then follow at least part of the way. I stop at Peeta’s door and knock loudly.  
  
“Come in,” he hollers.   
  
The door slides open to reveal him sat at the table, the pencil in his hand flying across the paper in fluid motions. He must be sketching.   
  
“Hey.”  
  
He looks across, startled by my voice. “I thought you were Haymitch.”  
  
“Sorry to disappoint you.”  
  
The corner of his lips tug into a short-lived smile. “I would never be disappointed to see you.”  
  
It’s the first time that he’s said anything remotely affectionate since we returned from our Games. Since he discovered that I wasn’t in love with him. I feel my chest tightening, but in a different way to before. There is none of the discomfort that I used to experience when he shared his feelings with me, and once again I am reminded of Haymitch’s words during the Victory Tour. _You could do a lot worse than Peeta_.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
I sigh. “I owe you an apology. You were protecting Aden, and I understand that. You have no obligation to protect Prim.”  
  
He rises from the chair and crosses the room quickly. Stopping in front of me, he takes my hand in his as he speaks. “I will always try to protect Prim. The same way I’ll always try to protect you. I just couldn’t ask the same of Aden, that’s all. I couldn’t ask him to die for her.”  
  
“I know,” I whisper. “I know.”  
  
“They’ll wake soon. We should go to the lounge and wait.”  
  
I agree, although I’m already dreading having to watch another day of them in the arena. But the only way for it to stop is if they were dead, so I have to remember that it’s better than _that_. They both had the sense to leave the Cornucopia immediately, relying on their older allies to retrieve weapons and utility backpacks. And as of last night, the alliance is holding strong.  
  
It’s raining in the arena when we switch on the screen, and it doesn’t stop for the entire day. Our group stays holed up in their cave and the Careers keep to their makeshift shelter in the forest. Both camps have enough food and water to get through this second day, and nobody dies.  
  
“Tomorrow is going to be hell,” Haymitch warns us. As if we don’t already know. “The Gamemakers will want a bloodbath to make up for the silence of the cannon this evening.”  
  
I take one final look at Prim, curled up against Aden’s side, before trailing after Haymitch. I hear Peeta’s footsteps not far behind.  
  
I reach his room first, and stop in front of the door. When he catches up, he looks at me curiously.   
  
“I don’t feel like sleeping,” I say with a shrug.  
  
He nods his assent and unlocks the door, waiting for me to enter first.  
  
“We could lose them both tomorrow,” I tell him. “We’re certain to lose one.”   
  
He knows that I’m right. The Gamemakers have to destroy the alliance, and the best way to do that is to kill the instigators, Prim and Aden.   
  
Peeta can only nod. He looks as defeated as I feel, and right now, I want to do anything I can to make it better for the both of us. To stop us from feeling so scared and lost and frightened.  
  
So I kiss him. Not one of the staged kisses that we provide for the cameras, not even one of the tentative kisses from our Games. This is a kiss like the one from _our_ cave, a kiss that carries all of the need that I feel in this moment for life and safety and bravery. All things that I associate with Peeta.  
  
He responds initially, but then stops, and I quickly realize that it was a reflex. An action that he couldn’t control. Now that he is aware of his actions, he doesn’t want to kiss me.   
  
I stop and pull back. He watches me, trying to find something in my expression that will explain my behavior. I open my mouth to speak, but words fail me, as they often do.   
  
It doesn’t seem to matter to Peeta, though. Because after some more seconds of searching, his lips are on mine and he is kissing me with as much hunger as I had shown to him. I return the kiss eagerly, and soon his chest is flush against my own and our hands are roaming each other’s bodies. His hair is shorter than it had been the last time I ran my fingers through it. His upper arms are broader, and a distant memory of seeing bags of flour being delivered to his door in Victors’ Village surfaces in the recesses of my mind. I start to wonder what he does with the bread that he bakes, but then he runs his tongue along my bottom lip and I lose my train of thought.  
  
I think that I moan – I’m not sure, to be honest – and he responds in kind. Finally, he pulls his mouth away, but not the rest of his body, and we lean against each other for support. His forehead rests against mine as we both breathe hard. “Katniss,” he pleads. “Tell me want you want. Tell me what you need.”  
  
“I need this,” I whisper. “I need you.”  
  
He groans lightly. “You’ll have to tell me when to stop.”  
  
“I won’t want to stop,” I tell him – and I know that it is part honesty and part promise.  
  
*  
  
I wake to a knock at the door, and it takes me a moment to work out where I am. When I raise my head, Peeta is looking at me with a mixture of embarrassment and delight. The thin sheet that he had draped over us lies crumpled at my waist, and my exposed chest must surely be in his eye line.  
  
“Morning,” I murmur.  
  
“Morning,” he echoes. “Did you, um, sleep well?”  
  
Our visitor knocks again, impatient, and Peeta looks across sheepishly. “I’d better answer that.”  
  
He slides out from under me, and I avert my eyes from his naked form as he bends to grab the pants that he hastily discarded last night. The door slides only halfway when I hear Haymitch. “I thought that we agreed on breakfast on the rooftop. Effie’s going crazy from how late the pair of you are. Get moving now.”  
  
And then I hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway. Peeta turns to me, perplexed. “Guess we’d better hurry,” he says, half in question.  
  
“Guess so,” I murmur in agreement.  
  
When we arrive, Effie is nowhere to be seen. Haymitch looks across with a grave expression as we approach. “Sit down,” he says, gesturing at the slim bench that runs along the wall. “Both of you.”  
  
I waver, and he gives me a pointed look. “We don’t have time for you to be difficult, sweetheart.”  
  
I deliver a scowl, but follow his instructions anyway.   
  
“We’re leaving in ten minutes.”  
  
“And where are we going?” Peeta asks carefully.  
  
“District 13.”  
  
Peeta and I exchange a look, and his shock is plain to see. “I’m not leaving without Prim,” I declare.  
  
“We’re going to the arena first,” Haymitch says. “We’ll pick them both up on the way.”  
  
I want to ask how – how will we get into the arena, how will we get Prim and ourselves out. But Haymitch is looking nervously at the sky, and I quickly put two and two together.  
  
“You have a hovercraft?”  
  
“Plutarch does,” he mutters, then appears to regret it.  
  
Plutarch Heavensbee, a rebel. It seems as though Haymitch has been keeping us in the dark about a lot of things.  
  
So this is it. This is the revolution. The fire that I started with a handful of berries, the fire that Prim stoked with actions as bold as mine and words as smooth as Peeta’s.   
  
We are all mockingjays now. And we are ready to fly.

 


End file.
